


Diverse Destinies

by SusanMM



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, Gen, Runaway Harry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 23:40:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/985029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SusanMM/pseuds/SusanMM
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if a young Harry Potter ran away from home? Who would rescue him? Who would take him in? AU: A collection of one-shots (some of which will be crossovers). Adopted from Nymph0's abandoned story "Freedom."</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Freedom

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Freedom](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/28064) by Nymph0. 



**Author's Note:** Standard fanfic disclaimer that wouldn't last ten seconds in a court of law: these aren't my characters. Based on characters and situations from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter novels, as well as from assorted TV shows, movies, and possibly other books. I'm just borrowing them for, uh, er, typing practice. Yeah, that's it, typing practice. I will return them (relatively) unharmed and suitably bandaged to their original owners. (Well, most of them. There will be some character deaths in later chapters.) No financial profit was made from the writing or posting of this story, behind improving my typing speed and my plotting ability. Like Publicola's "Wait, What?" (which I recommend highly) this will be a series of one-shots. I am adopting an abandoned story, and each chapter will be a separate and independent sequel to chapter one. Some will be happy, some will be sad.

**Diverse Destinies**

_Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone_

by Susan M. M.

based on the abandoned story "Freedom" by Nymph0, in 2005, up for adoption

* * *

**Diverse Destinies: Chapter 1, Freedom**

written by Nymph0, edited by Susan M. M.

* * *

September, 1986, Little Whinging, Surrey

_Beep beep beep._

Harry awoke with a fright. He turned off the alarm quickly, worried his aunt or uncle would hear it. Four a.m. His relatives wouldn't be happy to be woken at this hour.

The green-eyed boy listened for any signs of his family waking up. Only after hearing none did he relax. Harry quickly got off his mattress. He had no bed, just an old crib mattress on the floor of the cupboard under the stairs. He had long since outgrown it. He put on the clothes that he'd laid out for himself earlier that night. Quickly getting dressed, he took his bag from the corner of the cupboard. Checking to make sure he had everything, Harry opened his cupboard quietly, and snuck out, making sure to avoid the creaking floorboard.

Harry had been preparing for this night for many weeks now. He'd saved every little piece of food he could spare, pocketed every penny he could find, whilst attempting to act as normally as possible. If his aunt or uncle ever found out that he was trying to run away, they would surely kill him immediately, not caring about the consequences at all.

Harry's walk to the front door seemed to last for ages, although it took less than a minute. After reaching his final destination, Harry paused and looked around.

The house looked as clean as it always did: the furniture was spotless, everything was neatly in its place, and the floors were shining.

This had been Harry's home for as long as he could remember. Five years ago, or so he had been told, his parents had been killed in a car crash. Vernon and Petunia Dursley had taken him in, even though, as they often told him, he was a burden and a nuisance. He took the food from their son Dudley's mouth, they told him, and they expected him to repay them for their generosity in not sending him to an orphanage where he belonged by doing chores. He was just a burden placed on their doorstep five years ago. They never lied to the little boy: they never told him they loved him. And they didn't. He had taken their treatment for granted. He had long since forgotten being loved and cherished by his parents. He knew his life was uncomfortable; he knew his aunt and uncle treated him cruelly. And until he had started school, he had not known there was anything wrong with that.

Finally snapping out of his thoughts, Harry turned back to face the front door. With a last sigh, Harry raised his hand to touch the lock. Small for his age, he had to rise on his tiptoes to be able to reach the lock. With a triumphant smile, Harry turned the lock and finally opened the front door.

Instantly, the green-eyed boy felt the cool autumn air on his face and neck. It was warm enough to wear a simple long-sleeved sweatshirt but already too cold to be wearing a simple t-shirt.

As quietly as he could, he shut the door behind him. Without glancing back, Harry began walking away from his prison. He couldn't believe it; he was finally free! No more chores, no more abuse, no more Dursleys. He was free to do whatever he wanted.

Harry walked for what felt like hours. He had planned to run, but as dark as it was, he didn't dare. He was afraid that if he stopped, something or someone would force him to return. And Harry didn't think he could bear that. He'd thought about this many times before. He was only six years old, but he wasn't stupid like his cousin Dudley. He knew that he might not live for very long if he left his relatives' house. However, after many sleepless nights he finally realised that anywhere was better than the Dursley's. Back there, he was constantly reminded of his worthlessness, of his freakishness.

After an hour and a half, Harry noticed that the sky was beginning to lighten. He was far away from his neighbourhood, or thought that he was, so when he saw a park he decided to stop. He still had time before early joggers would come to this park for a run, so he looked for a secluded area where he could rest unnoticed.

After wandering around for a few moments, he noticed the perfect spot. It was surrounded by bushes and was deep into the park. Harry thought that it was highly unlikely that someone would notice him there so he used his backpack as a pillow and laid down for a much-needed sleep.

He was asleep before his head hit the 'pillow'.

SCENE BREAK

" _Lily, he's here! Take Harry and run. I'll hold him off."_

" _You think you are a match for me? What a fool. Move aside and I'll spare you a painful death."_

" _Never! Expelliarmus!"_

" _I've had enough of you! Avada Kedavra!"_

" _Step aside, silly girl."_

" _No, not my baby! Not Harry! Kill me, kill me instead."_

" _Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry awoke, startled by the sudden transition from nightmare to wakefulness. He could still see the green light coming towards the woman. It was the same colour as her eyes. The same color as his eyes.

He'd had this same dream once a week for about two months now. Every time it seemed just as weird as the last. He could never remember what happened. Only the green light and the woman's scream. Harry felt scared for the woman. He knew it was just a dream, but why did it seem so real? He wished he could remember the faces of the unknown couple; maybe then he could somehow help them. He wasn't sure why he wanted to help them or thought that he could, he just had a vague feeling that he ought to help them.

Nevertheless, in the back of Harry's mind he knew the truth. He did not know how he knew, he just did, and it was like a sixth sense. They were dead and there was nothing he could do.

Coming out of his thoughts, Harry saw that it was bright outside. He wondered if it was morning or afternoon. Then Harry heard his stomach make a rumbling. He was hungry, so he took an apple from his backpack. Digging his teeth into the precious fruit, Harry concentrated on savouring the flavour. Slowly, his recent dream slipped away from his consciousness. Now Harry had to think about things that were more important. Like what he was going to do now. His food and money would not last long, a week at the most. Therefore, he needed a way to come up with more money. Surely if his aunt and uncle thought he was old enough to do so many chores, other people would think he was big enough to hire for odd jobs. Harry knew that his life from now on was going to be a struggle for survival. It would be a battle of wills, and he was not going down without a fight.

* * *

**Adopter's Note**

Obviously, Harry cannot survive on his own at this age. And Little Whinging is too suburban for him to have mean streets to live on. (For that matter, I'm not sure Guilford, Surrey's county seat, has mean streets.) Someone will find him and either take him in or turn him over to Child Protective Services. The question is: who? A kindly Squib bobby? Mrs. Figg? A Doctor in a big blue box? Rupert Giles? The Weasleys? Mr. and Mrs. Finch-Fletchley? Remus Lupin? Lee Stetson and Amanda King? Kwai Chang Caine? Why, all of them, of course. Each chapter will be independent of the others. All will be AU, and some will be crossovers. Updates will be irregular and unscheduled.


	2. Mrs. Figg, in the park, with a 99

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mrs. Figg finds Harry, and discovers the conditions he's been living in. Needless to say, she is NOT pleased.

DIVERSE DESTINIES: Chapter 2, Mrs. Figg, in the park, with a 99

by Susan M. M.

* * *

Arabella Figg strolled the park. It was a beautiful Sunday afternoon, and the park was full of children playing.

"Mummy, look, there's a boy going pee-pee in the bushes," a little boy called out.

"Go away," a child's voice retorted.

Mrs. Figg started. She recognized that voice. She walked to the bushes. "Harry? Harry, is that you?"

There was no response.

Mrs. Figg stepped over to the bushes and parted the branches with her hands. "Harry Potter, whatever are you doing here?"

Big green eyes looked up at her. Frightened green eyes.

"Did your aunt take you and Dudley to the park to play?" She hadn't seen any sign of Petunia and Dudley Dursley.

Harry shook his head.

"Does she know where you are?"

"I ran away," Harry confessed in a quiet, shaky voice.

Mrs. Figg thought a moment. "Harry, would you like a Ninety-Nine?"

"What's a Ninety-Nine?"

"An ice cream." She reached out her hand to him. "Come on. I'm treating."

Harry hesitated. Freedom was supposed to mean not listening to grown-ups - especially grown-ups who knew the Dursleys and would probably make him return to him. He hadn't expected freedom would mean being scared and hungry. He was very hungry; the food he had thought would last a week had lasted a day and a half. And he'd never been allowed to have ice cream before. He crawled out from the bushes and took her hand.

Mrs. Figg led him over to an ice cream cart. "Two Ninety-Nines, please."

"Monkey blood?" the ice cream man asked.

Harry's eyes went wide in shock.

"Would you like strawberry sauce, Harry?" Mrs. Figg asked.

Harry nodded.

Remembering what the little boy had said Harry had been doing, Mrs. Figg handed him a paper napkin before taking her wallet from her purse to pay for the Ninety-Nines. (Alas, with inflation, they cost more than ninety-nine pence.) A moment later the ice cream man handed Harry a vanilla ice cream cone with a chocolate flake bar stuck in the ice cream and strawberry sauce drizzled over it. He stuck his tongue out for a tentative, cautious lick. Then his face lit up into the biggest smile Arabella Figg had ever seen. "It's good!"

Mrs. Figg led Harry over to a bench. They sat and ate their ice cream. Then, through gentle questioning, she got him to tell him about his life at the Dursleys. All children, she knew, thought they had too many chores and that their punishments were too harsh. She wanted to take what Harry told her with a grain of salt. But if even half of what Harry was telling her was true, she'd need an entire salt shaker.

* * *

 

Two hours later, Harry Potter was peacefully sleeping in Mrs. Figg's guest room. He'd been shocked to learn his hidey-hole was only a mile away from Privet Drive; he'd been sure he'd left the boundaries of Little Whinging and had supposed himself halfway to Guilford. A glass of milk, a raspberry jam sandwich, a warm bath, and Harry was sound asleep. Of course, the calming draught that she had added to the milk probably helped knock him out as much as the full belly and the exhaustion.

Mrs. Figg tossed a handful of Floo Powder into the fireplace. "Albus Dumbledore!"

Professor Dumbledore's face appeared in the fireplace. "Arabella, how are you?"

"Albus, there's a problem."

"Life is full of problems, Arabella. It is how we face them that -"

"Harry ran away from home," she interrupted him.

"What?!"

"He's all right," she assured the headmaster of Hogwarts, "he's fine."

"Where is he?" Dumbledore demanded.

"Upstairs, in my guest room."

"Thank Merlin!" Dumbledore breathed an audible sigh of relief. "You'll be able to return him to the Dursleys."

"I will not," she declared.

"Now, Arabella, you know he must stay with Lily's sister, for his own sake."

"Albus Dumbledore, if even half - if even a quarter - of what that boy has told me is true, then he is not going to the Dursleys until you speak to someone in Wizarding Families and Social Services. Because if you don't, I shall call the Surrey Child Protective Services Office and report Harry as an abused child."

"Surely, Arabella, you overstate the case. Was he spanked for some childish misdemeanor and then exaggerated it into a beating?"

"He sleeps in the cupboard under the stairs, Albus. He does more chores at six than the average child twice his age does. He's wearing his cousin's hand-me-downs."

"Many children wear hand-me-downs. Aberforth used to wear my outgrown robes."

"His cousin is twice his size," Mrs. Figg pointed out. "I saw bruises when I gave him a bath."

"Most little boys have bruises and skinned knees," Dumbledore told her.

"Not like these. I gave him his first ice cream cone today. He'd never had ice cream before, when that spoilt brat Dudley is the size of a whale calf."

"Perhaps the boy is lactose-intolerant, Ar- " Dumbledore began.

"Albus Dumbledore, you will come down to Surrey and investigate this matter personally, or I will go to the Wizengamot," she threatened.

* * *

 

Professor Dumbledore came to Surrey, planning to calm down Mrs. Figg and return Harry to his aunt's home. After a brief discussion with the boy and a bit of Legilimency , he changed his mind. Dumbledore met with Harry. Madam MacDougal of WFSS met with Harry. Discreet inquiries were made.

A week later, Harry was being introduced to Amos, Jacobina, and Cedric Diggory.

"Hello, Harry, we're very glad you've come to live with us. Would you prefer to call me Mrs. Diggory or Aunt Jacobina?" She didn't think he'd be comfortable calling her Mum, at least not yet. She was a brunette in her early thirties. "This is my son, Cedric. He's nine _._ "

It was harder for Harry to get used to being part of a loving family than it was to get used to magic. Cedric taught him how to fly a broom and how to play exploding gobstones. He taught him that most puppies liked to play, and weren't trained to attack like Aunt Marge's dogs. Uncle Amos and Aunt Jacobina introduced him to other wizarding families in the area, the Weasleys and the Lovegoods. Mrs. Weasleys baked the best chocolate chip biscuits Harry had ever tasted, and she had seven children. Percy was older than Cedric and the twins were younger, and her youngest son was only a few months older than Harry. The Lovegoods only had a daughter, younger than Harry, but Luna and Ginny soon taught Harry that girls weren't half as yucky as he had thought, and they were all right to play with.

Six years later, Harry and Ron shared a compartment on the Hogwarts Express. They were slightly disappointed when Ron was sorted into Gryffindor and Harry into Hufflepuff, but they knew that despite being in different houses, they would always be best friends.


	3. Social Services

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Found by a Muggle policeman, Harry is turned over to Muggle Social Services.

DIVERSE DESTINIES: Chapter 3, Social Services

by Susan M. M.

* * *

"Here, now, lad, why aren't you in school?" PC Edmund Spenser asked.

Harry looked up at him, wide-eyed. Aunt Petunia had always told him he was a useless wretch, who was only permitted to stay with them because they were too kind and generous to send him to an orphanage. She had warned him many times that if he didn't do his chores, she would call a policeman to come and arrest him. Harry wanted to run, but he was too frightened. The police had come to take him off to jail, just as Aunt Petunia had always threatened.

PC Spenser took his arm. "Playing hooky, are you? C'mon, lad, let's take you home."

Harry shook his head.

PC Spenser took a closer look at the boy. Any child would have a reasonable amount of dirt, but it looked like this boy had been sleeping rough a day or two. And as small as he was, maybe he hadn't started school yet. "What's your name, lad? Where do you live?"

Harry shook his head again, saying nothing.

"Too young to know your address, are you?" PC Spenser frowned. The boy could be a runaway, or he could be neglected by his parents. Either way, he was a child in trouble.

* * *

 

PC Spenser took the boy in to the station. DS Gwen Davis washed his hands, took his fingerprints, then washed his hands again. She got him a glass of milk, a Cornish pasty, and a lollipop.

Harry gobbled the food, then promptly threw it up again.

"Poor lad." DS Davis cleaned him up again. "Too much, too fast." She got him a glass of water and a teddy bear. "Sip this slowly, dear."

She checked: there were no reports of any missing children. She called the Department of Social Services, and the boy was taken to a children's home in Guilford.

Three hours later, the telephone rang. "DS Davis."

"Hullo, Gwen, it's Dinah," said social worker Dinah Craik.

"Hello, Dinah. Anything on our young John Doe?"

"Just that he's never had a teddy bear of his own before," she reported. "Bruised, dirty, and malnourished, and he could be any age between four and seven. Wherever he's been living, no one's been taking care of him. He still won't tell us his name, so we've started the paperwork as John Doe."

"Poor angel," Gwen said.

"If we can't find out who his parents are, we can't terminate their parental rights ... and whomever this child has been living with, deserves to have their parental rights terminated," Dinah declared. "Just another poor soul to be warehoused, or bounced from one foster home to another." She swore. "I hate this job."

* * *

 

"Hello, Dinah. Christmas shopping?" Gwen Davis greeted Dinah Craik.

"You must be a detective," Dinah joked. Since they were in Harrod's, on the second weekend of December, it was a fairly easy guess. "Would you like a cuppa? I'm ready for a break."

The two went to Harrod's tea room, where they got tea and sandwiches. They sipped their tea, nibbled their cucumber sandwiches, and gossiped.

"Whatever happened to that John Doe we turned over to you back in September?" Gwen asked, once they had finished with husbands and inconsiderate officemates.

"Little Johnny Black, now," Dinah said. "One of our clerks accidentally put 'black' in the surname slot instead of under hair color, and since he's still refused to tell us his name, we decided to leave it. He'll start school next year, and he'd be teased if he were enrolled under the name 'John Doe'."

Gwen nodded. Children's teasing could be cruel; there was no point in offering the bullies and teasers extra ammunition. "Is he still at the children's home?"

"No, we found him a foster home. I just hope he'll be one of the lucky ones."

Gwen sipped her tea. So many children were bounced from one foster home to another. So few found a new family with their foster parents. "I hope so, too. The unlucky ones I wind up seeing again ... professionally."

* * *

 

"Mrs. Brickhill? My name is Charity Burbage. I'm here to speak to you about your son, John Black." Professor Burbage stood outside the door of a house in Woking.

"Not here, not any more," Mrs. Brickhill replied.

"Perhaps we could speak before he comes home from playing," Professor Burbage suggested. "I represent a school -"

"He doesn't live here," Mrs. Brickhill interrupted. "He was one of my foster children, but Social Services moved him to another home."

"Why?"

"The other children complained of him. Odd things always happened around him - one of the other boys called him a weirdness magnet. Things broke, things went missing. He said he didn't do it, but these children," Mrs. Brickhill shook her head sadly, "once they've been in the system as long as Johnny has, they lie so much they can't tell the difference between truth and falsehood."

"I'm here to offer him a place at our school," Professor Burbage forced herself to say. She wondered what sort of child it was that she'd been sent to invite to Hogwarts. "Do you know where I might find him?"

Mrs. Brickhill shook her head. "Don't know if he's gone to another foster home, or back to the institution. You'd have to inquire at Social Services."

"Thank you, I shall."

* * *

 

Professor Burbage nearly fainted when she saw "Johnny Black." She had been tired and frustrated, first going to the wrong county office in Guilford, then having to charm three bureaucrats before she could find John Black's new address in East Clandon. Then when she finally found him (after getting very lost), she recognized him at once: messy black hair like James Potter (she remembered giving him demerits at Hogwarts when she was a prefect and he was a first-year), emerald green eyes like Lily Evans, and an unmistakable lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.

She stammered through her explanations that magic was real, that Johnny was a wizard, and that Hogwarts would teach him how to use his gifts and abilities.

"Is that why things always ... happen around me?" Johnny asked.

Professor Burbage nodded. "Accidental magic is very common for young witches and wizards."

"One of my foster parents thought I had a poltergeist, or was attracting a poltergeist," Johnny told her. "She read a lot of Hans Holzer books."

"You're a wizard, and we'll teach you how to use your magic." Professor Burbage hesitated, then added, "I know your name wasn't always John Black. We can look into your roots, find out who you used to be."  

"I don't care who I used to be, just who I am now," Johnny retorted.

* * *

 

Professor Dumbledore was disturbed when Charity Burbage reported back to him. He was delighted that the Boy-Who-Lived had been found. But he remembered all too well another Half-Blood wizard who had been raised in a Muggle orphanage, and what had become of that boy. He fussed and fretted until the school year began and the students came to Hogwarts. He watched intently during the Sorting.

"Black, John," McGonagall called out.

Dumbledore watched as Harry Potter - he was obviously Harry Potter, no matter what he called himself - walked up to be Sorted. He frowned at the name the child was using ... the same surname as the boy's treacherous godfather, the same surname as one of the Darkest Pureblood families who had willingly followed Voldemort.

The Sorting Hat hesitated a moment, then announced, "Slytherin!"

Johnny - Harry - got up and headed for the table where Marcus Flint was waving him over. Dumbledore stood. He felt a pain in his left arm, and a tingling sensation in his body. He opened his mouth to speak, to protest. He could not permit this. He felt a great weight, as if a hippogriff were sitting on his chest. He was unable to speak. He collapsed back into his chair.

The Sorting was interrupted as the headmaster was rushed to the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey did her best to save him, but she was unable to save him. Albus Dumbledore died before he could share with anyone the little he knew about Voldemort, or his suspicions. His secrets died with him.


End file.
